


In The Meantime

by nightstar394



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Pining, Reincarnation, Waiting, bittersweet feels, finding each other, learning to live, long lost loves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightstar394/pseuds/nightstar394
Summary: I thought that by now I would be able to handle you leaving me. I’ve never counted but somehow every goodbye is lodged within my mind like a tally chart, while every hello is hauled together in a shoe box full of postcards- faded, tattered but treasured. Perhaps I could make an exception and add this moment to my collection.
Kudos: 1





	In The Meantime

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of writing in a very long time. I'm treating this as a warm up, getting things rolling so I can get back into the swing of things as I go along. Constructive criticism is welcome.

I thought that by now I would be able to handle you leaving me. I’ve never counted but somehow every goodbye is lodged within my mind like a tally chart, while every hello is hauled together in a shoe box full of postcards- faded, tattered but treasured. Perhaps I could make an exception and add this moment to my collection. 

The colours of the sky were subtly changing, rearranging themselves snugly so that the fall of night can tuck them in tight to be ready to greet the day. The little clouds rolled along the mountain tops like gentle waves of the ocean before calming into a blanket to hide the stars. The air turned chilly despite the time of year. The lights of the nearby town illuminated this little corner of the world; it glowed golden and warm. A shiver ran through me but I couldn’t bring myself to turn back to the bustling crowds. Enraptured by how the sky seemed to smear the horizon so that it could bleed into the ocean, I tried to think of something. Anything, really. So I begin to try and describe what my eyes can see and what my heart does feel yet I found it so indescribable I could scarcely believe it. Words never found their way easily to me- something I knew exasperated you yet you would always fill in the silence for me. I liked how your voice shaped words into moments and strung them together so I could see my thoughts more clearly. I could stare at this view for a lifetime. Just the one, mind. I only have so much time to spare. 

This was the latest place you recommended me to visit. Your eyes swam as though you could see the very food you tried to show me using your hands as a guide. Truthfully I am still unsure of what you were describing but that tea house you spent a whole 5 minutes waxing poetic about is just up the hill, so it will not remain a mystery for much longer. At least, I believe that to be the one. Often I try to find those exact little hideaways only to find that the feel is not quite right. The window showing the wrong view, the light glaring instead of blinding. Perhaps I am right but I always have a hard time being able to see things through your eyes.  
Your eyes; always so soft,full of humour and always saw through me. Your eyes that held the devastating pull of a collapsing star from which I could never escape from. As if I would ever want to escape you. It’s you who left me first, after all.

Nearly every time we meet you always have somewhere to tell me to go. I take them all very seriously and write them on my ever growing list. By now I have so many places to go but I just can’t seem to hurry. You always seem to be the opposite now; drinking in every experience of your lifetime until you burst, afraid of missing anything. It’s fine to take things slow, you will get there in time. However this is a luxury that I and very few others can enjoy. 

This is a luxury you were supposed to be enjoying with me. Death was never part of our future, at least not so early on. When you died I suppose I did too. For whenever we met afterwards you were astounded at so little I had experienced with life. I simply had no desire to wander, to learn, to thrive. You kept me grounded and without you I was buried, numb and curled up in your first resting place. When I ran out of stories to tell you that’s when I knew I had to ‘live’. Whatever that truly meant. And live I did once I saw the enraptured look on your face as I retold to you my ventures of Paris with my brother, a place you had yet to experience in this lifetime. After that, living became easier because I had something to live for. I like to think I became quite good at it. 

So many lifetimes all blend together that I can’t quite pull them apart anymore. It’s only when you pass by, slotting right back into my life as though you had never left that I can keep track of the time.  
It’s funny, when you think about nearly every hero or heroine in those silly little stories who have so much ambition, so many plans that they curse the very being of time. Rage how there is too little, cry how it goes much too fast and before they know it they are old. Old, slow and reminiscent. Some look back through life with a bitterness at all they failed to achieve, at all those who stood in the way of their dreams. Resentment remains in their weary bones until that final breath of life and carrying on with them as they drag their feet towards the bridge. Others simply look back with fondness knowing full well that nothing can be changed nor altered and thus simply accept it for what it was. Good or bad, fulfilling or regretful, they walk away without looking back.  
For me time is but the greatest gift I have ever been blessed with. Time brings back to me you. How could I ever utter bad intent towards it when it does me this favour again and again. 

For it gave me you who dragged me to safety when the fires consumed London town. We collided amidst the screaming and jostling people and ran together- lungs burning as we gasped for air, ears ringing from the carnage and blood rushing through our veins. We stood together on a hillside as daylight broke, watching as the city burned. Our hands gripped each other as our only lifeline. It gave me you at the newly named Regents Park at the turn of the century where you sang of a love lost to another’s sweet embrace. It gave me you when I was lost in an unknown town and couldn’t navigate the map thrust at me by the disinterested hotelier. You offered your arm and walked me through the streets, gesturing to everything of note and making sure I found my bearings. When we finally reached the bus stop my heart ached at the tenderness of your eyes. Without a word you gently took hold of my fingers and raised them to your lips. You kissed the back of my hand was such reverence I could only stare into your unwavering gaze. Pulling me in as you always did. I remember praying to whatever deity could hear me for this moment to go on. You pulled back minutely and offered me a quick quirk of your lips, mischief and challenge colouring the look you gave me. So I returned the gesture but this time I pressed my lips against yours, taking advantage of your surprise to make this parting so much sweeter.  
It gave me you outside a well kept church in a little country town, stepping out into the world with your newly wedded wife by your side. The bells rang loudly through the little street where I stood amidst the happy well wishers from the other side of the road. You stood radiant with pride and happiness and how you found my gaze I will never know. Yet you smiled at me, a mere stranger, and what could I do but smile back. Anything for you on your happiest of days. 

It gave me you when I sat crying on the bench we had met nearly 83 years prior, clutching at the jacket you had placed on my shoulders to keep the cold at bay, now outdated in that era. This time the heat clung to me and I welcomed it, pretending it was a heat long since lost. You approached me in that curiously cautious way that only a child could exude, holding out to me a finely pressed handkerchief. Even in my state I remember being surprised people still carried such old time things about. You never looked away from me. Your eyes bore into mine with such concern as you pressed your kechief into my cheeks to wipe away my now silent tears. I couldn’t help but smile, the briefest minuscule lilting of my lips that you returned tenfold. You stayed before me until my face was dry and you weren’t blurry from the stinging in my eyes. You didn’t say anything and neither did I; we didn’t need to. I looked over your shoulder and saw a woman waiting patiently by the shrubbery a foot away. Your eyes shone in her face and she looked at us with them with such proud fondness. How could she believe that she had been blessed with such a pure soul as you? With a sigh I looked back at you to find that your gaze remained unwavering upon my face. The moment had to end so I worked my trembling lips into a small smile and bobbed my head in what I hoped was assurance. You hesitated a moment longer, eyes searching my face intensely for any trace of a lie. So intensely that for a moment I stopped breathing as I wondered if you knew. I reached out and you leaned into my touch with a quirk of your mouth, a motion so achingly familiar I couldn’t hold in my gasp. The moment broke. You pulled away and for a moment the tears welled again as I fought back the urge to hold you to me. I needed you to go then. So with my hand that was still reaching out I made a little shooing motion and felt a gentle huff of laughter escape when your eyes widened in surprise. And thus with a grin that was far too huge for such a little face, you pressed your little soggy handkerchief into my hand and off you ran back to the woman patiently waiting. I didn’t watch you go.

The hardest part of us has never been the waiting. Not even the goodbyes were ever enough to make me want to give up.  
No. My in-between is filled with nothing but you. I live so that I can see you again. My life is filled with the taste of colours, the flavour of the world that you have yet to know once more.  
Everything ultimately is all for you. Yet the moment we see each other again my breath catches, for there you are at last. My heart beating so hard and fast I can never believe that you cannot hear it. My view swims and swirls along with the dizziness in my head and I can hear nothing but you ringing in my ears. A split second and my life is mine again. I feel myself coming back to me, for wherever you go you take me with you and I always look forward to meeting the both of you. That, my darling, is the hardest part.

Maybe one day I will have the courage to walk you to the bridge, if Uncle would let me. Just once. I often worry that you will lose your way. Perhaps I want you to ask me to follow you across. I haven’t made my mind up yet if I would or not.

The wind has picked up some now and I can hear the waves beginning to crash into the rocks below. The moment is over, as all moments are. Checking my watch in the dim lamplight overhead I see that the last bus will be soon. It was time to head back to the pleasant yet lively little hostel, pack the last of my things and make my way to the airport. Early morning flights have always been my favorite, for watching the sun rise above the clouds is a sight I have always wanted to describe to you. 

For what do I have but to live in the meantime, collecting stories so that I can retell them to you. You, who never fails to capture every word I give you as though it was a life line anchoring you to me. I must confess I understand. No word exchanged between us has ever been anything but ours.

It will be some time before we meet again. I have many things on that little list to accomplish before that happens. Already I have so much I cannot wait to share with you. In the meantime, my darling, I will live well.


End file.
